


We Could've Been Anything

by celestaires



Category: RWBY
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, I promise it gets better at the end, Neo needs a hug, POV First Person, Self-Doubt, Somewhat based off canon(?), Volume 2 (RWBY), Volume 2 Events, dude trust me, gelato
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:01:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29735649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestaires/pseuds/celestaires
Summary: Criminality was never going to be an easy life, but is it so selfish to wish for something better?
Relationships: Neopolitan/Roman Torchwick
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	We Could've Been Anything

"Love is the wild card of existence."

The Gods weren't kind to criminals, not really. Criminals don't deserve the basic joys of life, considering they strip them from those who choose a path of normality and alluring comfort. Those who stray from the path of the regular, the common, are justly outcast for the havoc and danger they choose to wrought upon the innocent. Criminals take, and they take, and they never give anything back, robbing earnings and hard work from those who actually tried and gave a damn about society and its wholesome structure. Criminals didn't take part in this kind of sane thinking that the rest of Remnant seemed to share.

The Gods weren't kind to us, no.

Not me, anyway, as I stand here now, ever-faithful to his instructions and leadership. I don't think they'd like that I stick by him, practically joint at the hip to his every command and direction. That I join him on his grandiose escapades, law-breaking and beyond dangerous, capable of instilling a dripping sense of unease in the minds of civilians and an anger from authorities. That I'd do whatever it takes to make him happy, to watch him succeed under a system unfair that has chewed him up and spat him out again. Sometimes, I do ponder over the possibility of there ever being me without him, and I'd laugh if only I had the voice to.

Myself, without Roman? No, I wouldn't like to imagine that.

Those with normal lives can indulge in the little things they take for granted, living in their harmoniously blissful ignorance with the ones they hold dear, while those cast in the shadow of the Gods starve and weep and die, left to fester and grow vengeful at the lower end of society. This crueller side was primarily a collection of outcasts, bandits and misfits doing whatever they could to survive out against the cold world, fighting off a looming stigma loyal to them like a black dog. This grimy, cast out corner of Remnant’s population was where I met him, actually, and where I learned through his mannerisms and cunning how to keep myself alive when no one else would. I wouldn't have survived as long as I have without him, I know, but sometimes I do feel myself glancing off into the absent junctures of my mind and just wondering. Wondering where we would be now, not under the sickly sugared voice of Cinder Fall, not striking business with the White Fang to bring about anarchy to Vale, not packing long-lost train cars full of explosives and paladins and pitting hordes of Grimm on innocents living their simple, indulgent lives. Would I ever know him? Would he ever need to know me?

Who would I be, without you?  
  
  


  
  


"...t’s how I broke out! Impressive, huh? Another notch to the belt of masterminded victory, I’d say.”

A voice cuts the air. It's his, of course, I’d know it anywhere. I forgot he was beside me.

"You're quiet tonight, huh...? Was my grand breakout story too long? Jeez, lock me up for boring you then, eh~?”

I could hear the childlike laugh that baritone carried as he nudged my side, so bright and full and ever reminding me of what I cling to with... longing, I suppose. Perhaps, that isn't the right word - what is there to long for, when you inflict such carnage on the blindly peaceful?

"...Doll, you're looking blue. Can I at least get a hint on what's stirring up in there? Give me a wave, maybe."

When everything you do is simply animalistic, bending against normality? How selfish, how insufferable - yet was there ever a choice to fall into this path? What if we did it different, somewhere down the line, would I have a

"Neo, come on. Look at me, I'm serious."

I meet his eyes with an unknown hesitation, a stunning verdant against autumn falls. So brilliant, yet not as they usually are, glazed over with a faint score of something troubled as he slowed, apparently taking his time to study what was stirring beneath the surface of heterochromatic, candy-coloured eyes. Those eyes, so attentive yet troubled - are they troubled over me?

He's stopped moving now, and I simply shake my head. Ridiculous, to get carried away in stupid, stupid thoughts like these. We're out here for a reason, I remind myself - another routine check-in with the White Fang underlings for an update on their progress with loading explosive cargo into the train carriages in the dilapidated underground city of Mount Glenn. Such a necessity would’ve been fine to do over the line of a call but alas, the White Fang members weren’t perfect, and carting around any type of bomb in their claws was a recipe for potential workplace accidents. Or, in this case, workplace mass injury to death. Cinder demanded the in-person update, so Roman went, loyal as he was to command. My mistake tonight was choosing to come along with him, loyal as _I_ was to _him_ \- I've only burdened him with my thoughts. Please, keep walking -

"Why don't we take a quick break, huh? We've been on the road for a good while anyways, my bones are screamin' at me."

The smile returned to his face as he punctuated his offer with a drawn roll of his shoulders, though it wasn't the same as before he’d brought up my mood. The original journey plan was to take a ship down to Mount Glenn, pop in, then leave – except Roman had decided “taking a walk would be just what’s needed on such a lovely night!” and, true, the night was indeed lovely when you stopped and stared - it was only sullied and marred by such irresponsible thinking. I watched him move away from the abandoned cobble street, cast under the ebbing yellow light of fading streetlamps and the colours of said lovely night, and disappear into one of the destroyed apartments, and of course I followed. Advancing the apartment's crumbling staircase, I found him already slouched over, letting out a content sigh of makeshift relaxation unfamiliar in a place like this. He offered that same askew smile, perhaps a little brighter this time, as he gestured to the stone floor beside him.

  
"I know you'd get a height advantage standing up, but really... C'mere."

And how, pray tell, could I say no? Through a head of brooding stormclouds I make my way over and sit beside him, sensing those same calculating eyes on me as I go. In any other setting, I know I would find an elation in spending such a still moment with him content beside me, but alas. Not here, or now, as Cinder's operation is barely a distance away and below the surface, waiting in malicious preparation like a beast's awakening from slumber with us; instigators, influencers, inciters of a feeling that's terrifying and inhumane to inflict on others.

  
  
  


Yet here we are. I can feel the Gods' backs to us both.

  
  
  


All I can do is frown, corners of the mouth pulled down in an internal disgust. I'm sure he caught on long before we started walking out here, the disquiet that snuck in somewhere down the line and nested as the evening progressed. I wish we weren't here. Selfish of me to wish, sure, but I wish we weren't here. I'd rather be in a home, a living room - perhaps in front of a screen, feet up. I could get a job, something normal, and function in society. Maybe we're something more than this, you and me. What if we were together officially, gleefully residing in comfort and security away from Cinder and Grimm and crime and everything else that weighs us down? The world could know we exist, that we feel _beyond_ the lives we were given. That we, like the rest of Vale and beyond, are human. What would you say, then? Would you still stay in a life more subdued?

"...Y'know you can tell me anything, right? Well, in whatever way you wanna, I guess - otherwise I'll stick with the silent treatment. We've both been bored to death with these types of nuisance errands and honestly, I’d be rather delighted with the conversation. It's funny what we go through to make these types of operations work, eh? I guess I can’t exactly blame you if you’re not up for it – maybe taking a ship down would’ve been less hassle."

The Gods weren't kind to let me meet Roman Torchwick. They've given me a hope through the one person in the world to speak my soundless language and understand me, yet toy with the strings fastened around my feelings by waving our scrappy selves goodbye and deciding we would carry on further into our own descent, set to live out our days with our names shrouded in hatred and scorn. Not that I even really believe in the Brothers to begin with, it’s a simple fairytale – but if they do exist, in fact, then they’ve offered us the worst hand from the deck. Criminality is no climb upward; I understand that now.

We could've been anything.

  
  
  
  


"Neo, come on, I can see you spacing out again. Give me anything, sweetheart. You know I'm here for you."

Through the clouds of my mind, I still find his honeyed harmonies gracing my thoughts, splitting through the deep fog accumulating, and I can hear how he's abated his loud expressionisms to something more reserved. Through all the time I've spent by Roman's side, I find he only ever softens his tone of voice for no one else but I. He's so much kinder and attentive when the rest of the world doesn't see us, everything is so much more bearable when he's the only other person in the room. I find his eyes with struggle, that same viridescent vibrancy I love so dearly, and they're clouded in a spectrum of quiet concern and comfort, only increasing as his brows knit in a way I cannot stand. I barely register it, but all too soon my hand is no longer left absent and scrunched in my lap, swept up high in one much larger than my own, only amplified by a reassuring squeeze through the crinkling fabric of gloves.

I've always liked Roman's hands; how secure they make me feel in their substantially differing size from my own. Isn't that ridiculous? Is this commiseration, if fleeting, even deserved?

  
  
  


Why can’t we just be happy?

  
  
  


Something blackened and dreary churned in my mind, the waves of an overwhelming doubt barrelling into the sides of my brain, their murky waters taunting and unnerving - and Vale falls away, for a stilling moment. The world is reduced to static; Mount Glenn and the White Fang are simple memories, Cinder Fall and her underlings are fantasies and the Grimm do not exist. The white noise crackling in the air cries and screams, begging for a different spiral of thought but here I am, suddenly, more vulnerable than I have ever been, my wit careening downward into a place it threatened to reside permanently, for if I have nothing left to lose then is there a point in all this? This violent intent I spew upon the land, only for the world to return my viciousness in a deserving disgust. Or was it fear? Was it my goal, to be feared by the population as someone who could ruin the lives of the unexpecting? As if Remnant would care – perhaps they would cheer at my dismay. I can feel the tears sting my eyes at my despondence, before I have registered their existence and I watch, with a frail dismay, the way his creeping ease all at once dissolves.

"Oh - oh Neo, c’mere, it's alright -"

The Gods weren't kind to Roman, either. How pitiable to think, that one day he'd be one of the most wanted men in Remnant, fighting to survive each day on the run, with people he’s never known cowering from his face, wishing for his capture, and one day cradling his silently sobbing darling in his arms in a land infested with Grimm. No doubt they'd begin to sense the unease soon, and this tiny, dishevelled four walls will be nothing more than our graves, wasteful lives lost to the world who wanted us dead anyway. We are criminals, this was the path we chose; we deserve to feel like this, don’t we? I find myself lost in the white fabric of his suit, the only thing I want to feel. The static wail of the cruel outside buzzes around in my skull and everything apart from him and his embrace means nothing. It must be pitiable reflex, but I feel his hands shift to tangle somewhere in my hair and he sways, rhythmically, rested against the battered apartment's wall in a vain attempt to rid the sudden surge of emotions swirling in the dusty air.

The God's weren't kind to criminals, as the confident, explosive facades we carry so proudly crumble at once to our feet, the only solace and sound being Roman's hushed murmurings against my temple, as I faintly register his sweetened nothings by my ear shudder acutely. The sadness I cry remains, though I lean back in his arms to see him, to perhaps find a reprieve from these insignificances in my mind and

  
  
  


I've... never seen Roman cry before.  
  
  
  
  
Or rather, I’ve never had the chance to see him so raw in his emotions, despite everything, mirroring in kind my seemingly pent-up worries and second ideas, shared through an understanding only we seem to have the displeasure in knowing. He must’ve registered the surprise on my face, as I watched with a sinking feeling the way he understood what was happening and rushed to gather himself, wiping at his eyes with gloved thumbs and breaking away from the doleful eye contact that was maintained for too long. He took a low, shuddering draw of breath before daring to speak through such drowning emotions.

"...We - We don't have it easy, I get it - I _get it_. Gods, _none_ of this was ever gonna be easy for us, doll. Things didn’t deserve to go this way, even if we’ve… had our share of misdemeanours, and the like.”

I can only see one of his eyes, but through his sorrowful, impassioned gaze he's nothing short of breath-taking, and though he chokes out a barely sounded chuckle, the painful weight it carries is prominent, stripping it of its typical colourful spark, and my eyes well again. Perhaps, tonight, both of us have encompassed the emotions of this crumbling wasteland, and as his eyes glisten with a humanity he has never let slip before I can't help but fall in love with him all over again, for I know I could never bare to imagine a world, cruel or not, without those same capturing, prideful and sorrowful eyes to look at me so.

He reaches for me, and through the haze and blur I find his hand in mine. They don't fit together, not really, but maybe that's okay.

"I don't think I would've made it this far without you here, with me - I-I mean it. Even if that sounds… pretty out of place. You mean more to me than I think I... really know how to say, and you've made whatever we've got worth it - even if it isn't the boring normal that the rest of Remnant lives."

He doesn't outright say it, but I know what he means. The language criminals like us speak is something foreign to the rest of the world who simply wouldn't understand. We cannot share our emotions like the rest, cannot process like the average. Cannot live, in peace, away from harm.

Yet here, with him, the static fades. It crackles out of existence, replaced by a raw and overpowering energy.

  
“If the world’s gonna be out to get us, then I say we get them right back. Show ‘em all what we’ve got and give ‘em something to _really_ be looking out for.”

I know what he means, and what I wouldn't give to say it back. To tell him that he’s right, that the rest of Remnant doesn’t matter if you’re here. That the Brothers, if there, can hate us for what we do, and that’s alright.

Except, I do, it's all I can. The air is different now, and as the ache that tears at my heart is soothed through his words and the exhaustion from our emotions sweeps the building in a wave, I need no verbal tune to sing to him. He's too tall to reach naturally yet he understands what I’m trying to convey, craning and meeting me halfway as I draw him closer as softly as I can and the embrace he's encapsulated us both in hollers to the heavens and laughs at the Gods for all they've put us through. The kiss is deep and impassioned, though fuelled less by a crazed hunger and instead by physical reassurance, the wash of calm that arrives in knowing there’s… at least one person who isn’t out to get us. Beyond this bliss does chaos await us both, though it's all less daunting with him here as time melts away, lost to unabashed affection as he bears me in his arms, an encirclement of trust we both needed to be reminded of.

Perhaps there is some truth to be had in criminals deserving nothing but each other. I know no home but the arms of a lawbreaker, and that's okay; because I think it's all I need to live if the rest of Remnant won’t let me.

As he draws his lips back from mine, albeit slowly, I can’t help but capture his eyes again; the veil of sorrow trapping them before has been elevated, replaced instead by a glint of adoration as he laughs again, with a serenading upturned melody mixed with something mischievous, just as it should be. Outside these walls seems less harsh when he smiles so sincerely at me, hidden from the rest. Roman breathes out a muted sigh, and simply waits for our tears to dry under the moon until he speaks again, brighter than before. Never do I wish for that same sadness to befall him again.

“We’ll let Remnant live their boring lives – it’s just our job to spice things up a bit sometimes, eh? Besides, who says we need to stick to what they know; we can do whatever we want! And as the notorious duo we’ve led them to believe and know, it’s imperative we give ‘em hell, my dear.”  
  
I nod along, feeling gloved thumbs swipe along my cheeks and light kisses connecting to my forehead, the gentleness so unknown to Roman Torchwick despite the returning fire and pep to his words, and it's all I know I need to keep living another day in this heartless world we've been trapped in. A world in which, perhaps, I wouldn’t mind seeing reduced to rubble from time to time, as long as he’s there to laugh at the suffering of those who wronged us with me. I feel him shift and I rise with him to our feet, taking in the stillness of everything around us. The peace we’ve found, even in a place like this – it was almost poetic. Perhaps there was a kindness in the Gods after all.

"I think... we've been in this joint too long, don't you think? Those White Fang lackeys probably think we died on the way over here with how long we've kept them waiting. But that doesn’t matter – isn’t it just so _exciting_ to think of the faces of Vale when we come crashing in? Now _that_ puts me to sleep at night.”  
  
  
  
  


Perhaps the Gods were kind enough, to let me love you.

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! thank you for reading!
> 
> welcome back to neo being entirely ooc i am so sorry . i just thought it might be cool to have her second guessing her morality before basically saying f it all and doing crime anyway. this was a pre written thing i only recently got round to finishing, i promise i can't write this fast in this timeframe ;;
> 
> hope you enjoyed! i promise i'll write something happy eventually but this /technically/ had a somewhat happy ending to it?? so that's good????


End file.
